Lines in the Sand
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. GSR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: My stories are my toys. I don't play with just one at a time; I go from toy to toy, so I never get tired of any of them. See what I mean? But on that note, I have to give special thanks to PhDelicious. Not only does she help me come up with titles when I'm drawing a blank, she reminds me when it's time to take something out of my toy box and play with it. I also want to thank Helga for her Teutonic encouragement. And of course, thanks to you for taking another ride.

* * *

Lines in the Sand 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. --Victor Frankl_

* * *

Prologue

The phone rang three times before Grissom could be bothered to pick it up. He reached for the receiver without taking his eyes off his laptop's screen. An entomologist out of Berlin had published a new study on how global temperature changes could drastically affect insect populations, and although he suspected it was mostly conjecture, the findings were quite intriguing.

"Grissom," he answered, still reading.

"Gil." There was a lot of static and background noise masking the man's voice, so he was grateful when the caller added, "It's Jim."

He frowned at the screen. "Jim, you sound like you're in Baghdad." In the middle of the pause that followed, Grissom could hear people shouting. "Where are you?"

"Gil," Brass started again. "The first thing I want you to know is that Sara is okay."

Every part of his body froze.

"But there's been a fire," his friend went on. "At your house."

The light from the computer screen burned his eyes as he stared at it without blinking. "A fire?" he repeated.

"Yeah. They've got it mostly out. But Gil…" Brass stopped.

He choked out the next word. "Mallory?"

"I don't know," the other man sighed. "The paramedics took them both to Desert Palm…"

Grissom didn't stick around to hear the rest. Without even bothering to shut down his laptop, he grabbed his coat and his keys and tore out of the lab.

* * *

He found his wife exactly where the nurse told him she would be. She was standing in profile in the middle of a long corridor, looking through the glass panels of a set of double doors. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, and as he got closer, he could see that her clothes were dusted with ashes.

"Sara!" Even when he called her name and started running to her, she didn't acknowledge him. "Honey…" He reached her, and after a cursory examination for any visible injuries, he gathered her up into his arms.

She smelled like charred wood; her face was smudged all over with soot. But she was warm and alive. He buried his face in her hair, and offered up thanks to whichever force in the universe had kept her safe.

She didn't return the embrace. When he pulled back, he saw that she wasn't even looking at him. Her attention had returned to whatever lay beyond the glass windows.

Grissom followed her gaze. Inside the trauma room, a team of doctors huddled around something very small. Cold dread pooled into his stomach.

"There was a minute when she wasn't breathing," Sara said. Her tone was too calm, too even. "The smoke…I couldn't get to her in time."

One of the doctors moved, and he caught a glimpse of a tiny, fragile body. His one month-old daughter.

His knees threatened to give out from under him, but Sara's fingers had curled around his sleeves for support. If he lost control, she would fall, too. Taking great breaths, Grissom remained steady. "What happened, Sara?"

His wife slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving their daughter. "I fell asleep reading. The alarm woke me up." Her shoulders began to shake. "I couldn't breathe. She wasn't breathing. Oh god…" Sara looked at him for the first time, and there was no mistaking the sheer terror of her expression.

"What?" he asked, trying to keep his panic at bay.

She blinked rapidly. "Earlier tonight…I got a phone call. They just hung up."

Grissom ran his tongue over his lips. "Honey, let's not jump to any…"

One half of the door swung open just then, and a doctor in blue scrubs stepped out. "Mr. and Mrs. Grissom?"

"Yes," Grissom replied hoarsely. "How…how is she?"

"Smoke inhalation is nothing to be taken lightly, especially with an infant's delicate lungs. We did have to intubate her." Sara's grip on his sleeve tightened. "She's not completely out of the woods, but she's responding well to the oxygen. We're fairly confident that within the next six hours, she'll be breathing on her own. And probably very unhappy with the whole world." He smiled. "She's a tough little girl."

"Can we see her?" Sara whispered.

"We're going to take her up to the PICU, but once she's settled up there, of course. We can even arrange for you both to stay with her through the night." The doctor looked at them. "Do you have any other questions?"

Grissom answered for them both. "Not right now. Thank you."

With a nod, the doctor headed back into the room.

A moment passed. "Sara," Grissom finally said. But when she looked at him, he almost recoiled. Her fear had morphed into something much more deadly. "We don't know anything for sure yet." He swallowed. "The house is old. The wiring could be faulty, or…"

She cut him off. "They knew I was home. And wherever I am, Mallory is, too. This wasn't an accident. And you know it."

"Honey…"

"No!" Her voice echoed down the sterile hallway. "You promised me!" She pointed a shaky finger at him. "You swore it would be all right! That nothing was going to happen to me…and nothing was going to happen to her!" Tears leaked from her eyes, clearing tracks down her sooty cheeks. "But our daughter is lying in there, hooked up to a machine to keep breathing…" She raised the back of her hand to her mouth like she might be sick. "You promised, Gil."

Grissom swallowed heavily. "I never thought this would happen."

"Yeah, well…you thought wrong." She paused to collect herself. "When she's better, I'm not taking her back to that house. If there's anything left of it, that is."

"I'll go wherever you want. Wherever you feel safe, I'll…"

She interrupted him once again. "No." Their eyes met. "I'm sorry, but until this really is over…we can't be where you are."

"You're upset, honey. I know. I'm scared, too," he said once her words had sunk in. "But give me a chance to fix this. Please."

"I already have a place in mind." He opened his mouth, but Sara shook her head. "I won't tell you. So don't ask."

Grissom stared at the woman he loved. "Don't do this. Don't take my daughter away from me."

"Find out who wants us dead." She tucked her hands under her arms. "When they're in jail…we'll come home."

The doors opened again as the doctors pushed their daughter's gurney out of the trauma room, heading for the elevators. They both froze at the sight of her little body lying prostrate, a tube protruding from her mouth. It took every ounce of Grissom's self-control to keep from reaching out for his baby girl. As the team passed by, the doctor who'd spoken to them earlier gestured for them to follow.

Sara started walking backwards, still looking at Grissom as she moved further away. "I love you," she told him. "But I have to keep her safe. And being with you…it's not safe anymore."

"Sara, I…"

But she had already slipped into the elevator with Mallory and the doctors. The metal doors slid shut, leaving him behind.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for the amazing response to the first chapter! Extra thanks as always to my beta, PhDelicious. Enjoy:)

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Lines in the Sand

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

One month earlier

"It blows your mind, doesn't it?"

It took Grissom a second to realize that the comment was directed to him. He glanced over at the young man standing to his right. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and he was grinning like a fool.

"Look at 'em all!" the boy exclaimed. He tapped the window. "That's mine right there."

Grissom smiled politely. The truth was, if not for the placard on one bassinet that said _Baby Girl Grissom_, he wouldn't have been able to pick his own daughter out from the rows of newborns.

"I swear to god!" he went on, running his fingers through his shaggy hair. "It was un-fucking-believable! I'm a dad!"

That at least was a sentiment they both shared. Grissom was having a hard time believing it himself. He'd had nine months; he should have made some progress adjusting to the idea of a baby. But the moment the child's head had crowned, reality had smacked him in the face, reminding him that he could read as many books on the subject as he wanted, but having a baby would be the biggest undertaking of his life.

Even now as he was standing outside the Desert Palm nursery, watching a bundle of cloth with a tiny little face squirming in a clear crib, he still hadn't quite accepted that he'd helped create a whole human being.

"They certainly change things," Grissom quietly noted.

"Man, you're telling me." Sniffing, the new father shook his head. "It's like…yesterday it was just me and my girlfriend. And, you know, I totally try to take care of her, but she can pretty much do it herself. But the baby…" He ran his sleeve under his nose. "Totally helpless. And it's all up to me to, like, protect it. You know?"

He dipped his chin. "Yes." His little girl yawned in her sleep, and he felt a strange twinge in his chest again, just like he had when the doctor held her up for him and Sara to see for the first time.

She was just so small. Like the boy had said, helpless.

"So which one's your grandkid?"

Grissom slowly turned his head, fixing a blank stare on the younger man. He gave the kid credit for realizing his mistake; he cleared his throat and returned his attention to his own baby, leaving Grissom in peace with his thoughts.

As he watched his daughter's crib, a nurse approached and removed the placard. She slid a new one into its place. _Grissom, Mallory S._

"What's in a name?" Grissom murmured.

Sara had picked out Mallory for a girl, and he hadn't thought much about the name until now. Mallory.

French for "bad luck."

* * *

They took her home two days later, and although she wouldn't be walking for months, Grissom found himself checking out every possible hazard to his daughter's health. Light sockets, glass coffee tables, knives in a stand on the kitchen counter…he hadn't realized there were so many ways to die in your own house.

The baby was eating every two hours, so the first thing Sara did was take her up to the nursery to feed her. After putting Sara's overnight bag away in their bedroom, Grissom joined her.

It was the strangest thing seeing a whole new side to the woman he thought he knew so well. Motherhood had softened some of Sara's rougher edges, and while he loved her any way she came to him, he couldn't help but hope that the passionate, intelligent spit-fire he'd fallen for so many years earlier wasn't going to be replaced by a baby-obsessed domestic drone.

She looked up at him as he entered the nursery. "I wish I could explain this," she told him, shaking her head. "It's…weird. It hurts a little."

"I'm sorry, honey."

"No, it's okay. I'll get used to it, I'm sure." Sara glanced back down at the baby as she suckled. "What's on your mind?"

Grissom frowned. "Nothing."

"Liar," she softly chided him. "Something's bothering you. Just tell me. Don't make me drag it out of you."

He sank down onto bay window seat that Sara had decorated with pastel pillows. "I didn't realize how small she was going to be."

"She wouldn't seem so small if you'd had to push her out of a hole in your body."

"That's probably true." Grissom scratched his beard in slow motion, staring off into space for a long moment. "Maybe we should change her name."

Sara's head came up, a frown wrinkling her forehead. "You never said you didn't like Mallory."

"I didn't really think about it until now."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Wow. You know…this is probably something you should have mentioned before her birth certificate was legalized."

"Honey, I'm not saying it's not a nice name…"

"What are you saying then?"

Grissom sighed. "Come on, Sara. Think about it. What does 'mal' mean in almost every Western language?" He attributed her silence to the fact that she had to switch the baby to her other breast. "Bad," he answered his own question. "In French, Mallory means 'bad luck.' What kind of a name is that for a newborn?!"

Sara's frown melted away and the corners of her lips turned up.

"You think I'm over-thinking this," he said flatly.

"I think you're being adorably neurotic." Just like the lactation counselor had taught her, Sara tickled the bottom of the baby's foot before she fell all the way asleep. Mallory's eyes opened and she latched on again. "It's just a name, baby. My name means 'princess.' Yours means 'bright promise'." When he stared at her, she shrugged. "I'm just saying…do you see a crown on this head?" Before he could say anything back, Sara cut him off. "While you were over-thinking this, did you look up the German meaning of Mallory?"

"I didn't," he admitted.

Sara nodded triumphantly. "Well if you had, you would know that 'Mallory' also means 'one who wears mail.' As in chain-mail. It's a woman warrior's name." The child in questioned had drifted to sleep again; his wife gently detached the baby from her breast. "It was the toughest name I could think to give her that wasn't crossing the line into butch. And I have no doubt she'll live up to it."

Grissom hung his head for a minute. "I'm sorry," he offered her a second later. "I suppose it would be an understatement to say that…the whole world has changed in the past few days."

"Parts of it," Sara agreed. "But a few big parts have stayed the same."

"What are those?"

"That I love you. That you are my home. And that any child of ours will be smart and self-sufficient and strong." She smiled at him. "Okay?"

It still felt a little strange to be having a conversation with Sara in a room decorated with classic Winnie the Pooh characters, but maybe it was something he could get used to.

The two most important people in his life were healthy and safe. Really, could he ask for anything more?

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to Alison and Sue for being awesome betas. I'm so grateful for all the kind words on this story; I hope you keep enjoying it.

* * *

Lines in the Sand

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

For the fifteenth time since he'd entered the room, Grissom checked his watch. Could he really have only been there for thirty minutes? It seemed more like a matter of hours. Very long hours.

With a sigh, he drained the last of his bourbon. He had one more free drink ticket, courtesy of the American Society of Entomologists, but he doubted he'd be using it. He would be leaving soon. There were two beautiful females waiting at home for him, and he wanted to spend his time with them completely sober.

He hadn't even wanted to come to the lecture and reception, but seeing as how he was the guest lecturer, he couldn't exactly get out of it. The event had been scheduled before they'd even found out that Sara was pregnant. He'd been afraid of what she might say about him leaving her for a night only ten days after their daughter's birth, but he should have known Sara better. When it came down to it, she'd been the one to push him out the door.

"Go play with your bug buddies," she'd told him. "But one of these days you're staying with Mallory while I get a massage."

Maybe it was a fair trade on the surface, but halfway through his speech, he'd lost most of his focus as he started wondering what was going on at home without him. Was Sara giving Mallory a bath? Feeding her? Rocking her to sleep? What precious moments of his daughter's life was he missing while he gave a lecture on Silphid beetles?

It was time for him to make a discreet escape. He'd just started searching for a place to put down his empty glass when he heard an unmistakable voice cutting through the din of the crowd.

"Gil Grissom! You old son-of-a-bitch!"

If he'd been a religious man, he would have started praying for patience.

Grissom turned just in time to see Dr. Eugene Banks coming towards him. He'd known the man for almost fifteen years, and he couldn't remember having a single enjoyable conversation with him. It probably had something to do with the fact that he used phrases like "old son-of-a-bitch." But it also could have been that he sold his soul and his PhD to a chemical company that produced a large line of pesticides and bug repellents.

He wasn't the most popular guy at these gatherings. He was six feet two inches of pompous prick who flashed pictures of his trophy wife and his school-uniform clad children in a desperate attempt to make his life more meaningful than anyone else's. And over the past fifteen years, Grissom had become his favorite target in the game of "anything you can do, I can do better," for the simple reason that his plastic family always won out over Grissom's lack of any family.

"Eugene." He held out his hand with great reluctance. "Good to see you."

Although the man laughed, there was no joy in his eyes upon hearing his full name. Grissom was fully aware that he only liked to be called "Gene," but forgetting this fact was the only fun part of talking to the pseudo-scientist.

"Just Gene, Gil. Like always." They shook hands without any warmth or affection. "Nice speech. Kept me mostly awake."

"Thank you." One drink wasn't going to get him through this. "I was just heading to the bar. Last ticket."

"Sounds good." Eugene looked down into empty glass. "My well's run dry, too."

At the bar, Grissom ordered a double. While they waited for their order, the stilted conversation went on.

"How's business?" Grissom asked, mildly. "Finding new ways to kill anything that dares to crawl over a picnic blanket?"

"Oh, we keep busy." Eugene took his martini, and Grissom bit back a smirk. "And you? Enjoying the dead?"

"Actually, the living interest me more these days." He took his drink from the bartender with a nod of thanks. Knowing it would drive the other man crazy, he chose not to elaborate any further.

"And why's that?" Eugene eventually asked, as Grissom knew he would.

"I'm sorry, Eugene. I just assumed you'd heard." The smile that came to his face was genuine, unbidden by any need to come out on top. "I got married a little less than a year ago."

If he hadn't been thinking about Sara just then, he might have noticed the stony veneer that settled over the other man. "Congratulations. I knew there was some divorcee or old maid out there for you."

Grissom reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. For the first time in his life, he had kept the plastic insert designed to hold pictures of loved ones. It was now almost filled. He flipped it open to a picture of him and Sara on their wedding day. She'd been a vision in a simple white sheath dress, her hair gathered in a knot of curls at the nape of her neck. She was looking at him with the same adoration he hoped she saw whenever he looked at her.

"This is Sara."

If he'd married her for the same reasons Eugene had married his wife, it might have given him pleasure to see the man's eyes narrow a bit with unpleasant surprise. "Robbing the cradle, I see," he drawled. "You must be doing something right, old man."

Grissom flipped the booklet to the newest picture, the hospital portrait of his infant daughter. "I guess so."

A cord appeared along the other man's neck. "Well. Let me offer up double congratulations." Eugene raised his glass. "To your family."

"And to yours," Gil echoed the toast. "How is Marissa?"

"Clarissa," Eugene corrected him. There was an odd pause. "Fine. Great. Never better. She would have come along on this trip but she's got so many charity projects she's heading. She just couldn't get away."

"And the kids?" He wasn't even going to try to remember their names.

"Quinton is in second grade and Abigail is starting fourth. They're both at the top of their classes." He looked back down at the image of Mallory's perfect little face. "They grow up fast, old man. Don't miss out on any of it."

Tucking his wallet back into his coat, Grissom knew it was time to leave. He had finally won a round in the game he'd never asked to play, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd always imagined it might be. Years of winning hadn't made Eugene a better man; he still viewed his family as awards to be displayed.

No matter how proud his was to have Sara and Mallory in his life, Grissom vowed right then to never use them to validate his own existence.

Abandoning his drink, he offered out his hand again. "Eugene, always a pleasure."

The man's grip was harder than usual. "Indeed. Indeed." When he didn't let go, Grissom frowned and looked down at their hands. "Listen," Eugene started. "I'm in town for a few more days. How about we have dinner? You, me and your Sara. My treat."

He would have agreed to anything to get his hand back. "Sure. Sounds good." Grissom tried not to sigh with relief when Eugene let go. Inwardly cursing, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over.

"Dr. Gilbert Grissom, Supervisor, Las Vegas Police Department Crime Lab," Eugene read out loud. "No home number?"

"We keep the phone unplugged these days," he quickly explained. "Newborn."

Eugene's smile was tight. "Of course. Well. See you soon, old man."

On his way home, Grissom stopped by the supermarket and picked up Cherry Garcia and a dozen red roses. He just hoped Sara had gotten some sleep, and would be in a forgiving mood when he told her about their future dinner plans.

* * *

The next morning he woke with a start to the sound of his daughter's cries through the baby monitor. He was out of bed with the speed and agility of a man half his age, grabbing the baby monitor and turning it down to the lowest volume setting.

Grissom looked back at the bed. Sara rolled onto her other side, but her eyes stayed closed. Her hand unconsciously searched for his body, but only found warm sheets. Evidently that was enough. She tucked her palm under his pillow, and her breathing evened out again.

When he was satisfied that she would remain asleep, he pulled on his robe and headed for the nursery.

Mallory greeted her father with a dirty diaper and a severe attitude about it. As he changed her, the little girl's wails died down. She looked up at him with wide eyes, as if to thank him for making her dry again.

"You're welcome," he told her, lifting her from the changing table. "Let's give your mother another half hour before she has to get up and feed you, all right? Can you make it that long?"

Her response was to spit up the milky remains of her five a.m. feeding all over them both.

After tossing his robe and her onesie into the laundry room, and making a mental note to actually use the spit cloths Sara had been given at the baby shower in the future, Grissom took Mallory downstairs to the kitchen. They were a matching set. Her in a diaper and him in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.

She'd fallen asleep again, but he didn't see any reason to settle her into her carrier. As long as she was happy in the crook of his arm, he was content to hold her and start a pot of coffee at the same time.

He'd just settled down with his first cup and yesterday's newspaper that he still hadn't read when there was a knock on the front door. Wincing in preparation for the worst, Grissom glanced down at his daughter. But like her mother earlier, she remained blissfully asleep.

The early morning guest wasn't going away, though. With a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon etched into his forehead, Grissom went to answer the door.

"I know. It's early." Standing on the stoop with her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, Catherine held up a bag. "But I brought coffee and muffins. Hand over the kid and you can have them."

Grissom sighed. "Come in, Catherine."

She smelled of solvents and gunpowder; obviously she'd just come from the lab. Although she was probably exhausted, she set down the bag and held her hands out expectantly.

"Careful," Grissom warned her as he passed her the little girl. "She spit up a minute ago."

"She can't put any bodily fluid on this shirt that I haven't washed out a hundred times already." Catherine's smile was wide. "Hello, angel," she crooned to Mallory. "I think you get prettier every time I see you." She cradled the baby as only a mother could. "Sara's sleeping?"

"Yeah. The angel kept us up most of the night," he said with great affection.

"Oh, I can remember." Catherine pressed a kiss onto the little girl's downy head. "I love that sweet baby smell. Don't you?"

He found himself nodding. Clearing his throat a second later, Grissom walked to the couch and sat on the arm. "You're here at six-thirty in the morning with breakfast," he recapped. "What do you need, Cath?"

She shook her head. "Not a whole lot. Just your John Hancock on something."

"On what, exactly?"

"Nothing much," Catherine scoffed. "One minor case file. The DA's pushed up the trial date, and you're off for…what? Another two weeks, right?" She lifted her free shoulder. "Sign off on it, and I can take over for you."

Suddenly aware of his bare chest, Grissom folded his arms over his paunch. "What case is it?"

"You don't need to be worrying about it right now, Gil. You've got more important things to concentrate on. The Family Leave Act says you get this time off, so take it already. Just write your name and let me handle everything else."

He was quiet for a moment. "What case, Catherine?"

"God, you're annoying when I'm trying to be helpful." Gently rubbing Mallory's back, she gave in. "The Grigorovich murder."

His reply was quick and concise. "No."

"Gil…"

"No," Grissom repeated. "I built that case from the ground up, Catherine."

"I get that. And you're leaving big shoes to fill. But they have to be filled, or else the bastard's going to get away from us. Again." She walked towards him. "Put your pride on the back burner for a second. If someone doesn't get on the stand and nail Vladimir Malinovski with the evidence, he will walk out of the courtroom, free to kill the next person who refuses to pay for protection, or racks up gambling debts. I know that's not what you want."

Grissom ran his hand down his beard several times. She was right, and while that was a little barb in his side, he couldn't find a logical means to argue with her any further. It was one thing to be thinking about his family while giving a speech, but he couldn't, in good conscience, put himself on the witness stand knowing that his full attention wouldn't be on the trial.

"Fine," he said. "Just…don't let him get away. Hang him out to dry. Preferably by his sack."

Catherine flashed him a Cheshire grin. "Please, Gil. Not in front of the baby."

Sara came downstairs fifteen minutes later, her hair rumpled, her breasts aching as evidenced by the way she winced with their every movement. She gave Catherine a brief, exhausted smile before she took Mallory into the other room.

When they were gone, Grissom set down his half-eaten muffin and scribbled his name onto the official document that would hand the case over to Catherine.

* * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
